


It All Started With Pie

by cassbuttandsquirrel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas has a job!, Charlie being beautiful, Dean is In Over His Head, F/F, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Mostly Crack, Work In Progress, based off of that one tumblr post, can be seen as Destiel, charlie meets cas, dean realises his feelings, or at least that he cares, shipper!charlie, some of this takes place at a gay bar, sorry - Freeform, the crack will be back i promise, this tiny angst-bug shoved itself into this crack!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:52:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassbuttandsquirrel/pseuds/cassbuttandsquirrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It All Started With Pie (as per all other significant moments in Dean Winchester's life)<br/>Sam is surprised when Dean seems to have an unlimited supply of pie, courtesy of a certain blue-eyed celestial wavelength. How is he able to afford the older Winchester's prolific eating habits?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pie and Charlie's Great Night Out

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic! Enjoy!  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters

               It was a regular day in the bunker. Sam had locked himself in the library, scouring the web for a case and Dean was just letting himself in, carrying a steaming mug of coffee for his brother in one hand and a half empty beer bottle in the other. There seemed to be a box of pie pinned between his one arm and his side and he tottered a bit as he put down Sam’s mug by his elbow and gently removed the pie to place it on the table.

               “Heya, Sammy,” Dean said out of habit, not really expecting an answer. As it turned out, he was right not to – the younger hunter simply gave him a nod (most likely of thanks) before wrapping his hands around the fresh mug and gluing his eyes back to the screen.

              Dean kicked up his legs stretching them against the table and settled down into his chair, knocking back the bottle again as he smiled a little. _This is how it is supposed to be,_ he thought, _me and Sammy and pie._

               He was working through the last half of the pie when Sam suddenly blinked and looked up.

                “You’re eating pie?” He asked.

                Dean raised an eyebrow, his mouth full of pastry, “Muh-humph.”

                Wincing at the sight of his brother’s half chewed dessert, Sam said, “But we were all out yesterday! And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t go out _yourself_ to get some pie.” Dean looked slightly insulted but didn’t deny it. “So who did?”

                “Cas,” replied Dean his voice still thick from swallowing.

                “Huh,” was Sam’s only reply. Then, “I guess he must still have some money from the Gas-n-Sip era.”

                “Guess so,” was Dean’s unconcerned response, too distracted by his glorious pie.

                The next several minutes passed in a companionable silence until Sam broke it with:

                “So get this,” Dean rolled his eyes, but slid his feet off the table to listen to his brother. “Back in the 1950s there was this woman – Loretta? Henriette? I don’t know – who died from…” Sam leaned closer to the screen as he scrolled down, “cervical cancer.”

                Dean’s eyebrows crept back up.

                “No, just wait.” The younger Winchester protested, “So these scientists took some cell samples from her tumour – without her consent,” Sam glanced up at his brother, “it was the ‘50s, Dean. So they start incubating these cells and they just don’t stop replicating. They just don’t stop. Hell, I mean, they’re still replicating today!”

                “Isn’t that what cancer cells do?”

                “Well, yeah, but usually there is a limit at some point. This is way longer than any other cell has stayed alive.”

                “Okay, so what’s wrong with them?”

                “Um… nothing!” Sam shook his head slightly, his hair jumping widly, “To be honest, these HeLa cells have done nothing but good for humanity. I mean the polio vaccine was because of this research, advancements in protein synthesis, I mean –”

                “So there is no case here.” Dean interrupted gruffly, desperate to get back to his pie.

                “Well, it is… unusual? We’ve looked into things for less.”

                “Look, Sam, we’ll ask Cas if The Big Man has given out any miracle cells in the last couple of decades.” He reached back for his fork, “If not, we’ll go see what kind of monster DNA wants to help humanity.”

                Sam blew some air out of his mouth. “Fine.”

                Glad the conversation was over, Dean dug back into his pie. But when he finally finished off the dessert and patted his stomach he did briefly wonder: _Where DOES Cas get money?_

…

                Smoke on the Water warbled in the darkness as Dean struggled against his sheets, finally flinging out an arm to fumble his phone off the bedside table.

                “’Lo?” He didn’t even bother opening his eyes.

                “Deeeean!”

                “Charlie.”

                Unmoved by the reluctance in Dean’s voice the young girl continued, “Dean! I found this great place!” The bass of some obnoxious hit single bounced behind her voice. Dean held his phone a little farther from his ear. “It’s this bar called – I don’t actually remember what it’s called, but it’s great aaaaaaand it’s nearby!!” 

                “Charlie.”  _It’s 3 am._

                “Like really, REALLY nearby. Like, I dunno, like you could prolly walk.”  _I seriously doubt it._ Dean pinched the bridge of his nose as the ginger’s words began to slur.

                “Charlie – “ Dean tried to cut her off.

                “I’m soooo close to you. You should juss walk over here. I’ll meet you in th’ middle how ‘bout that? Hmmm? How ‘bout that.”

                “ _It’s 3 am, Charlie!_ ” Dean growled. There was a brief, surprised pause, and Dean barrelled on “and that’s… some sort of… _gay_ bar.” _An LBQT  bar? LQTB? LB... wasn’t there an A in there somewhere?_ Dean pinched his fingers closer together. It was much too early to be having this sort of conversation.

                “Where’s your angel?” Charlie asked slowly, out of the blue.

_WAY. TOO. EARLY._

                 “Charlie. For the last time, I’m NOT GAY.”

                “No, no, I know.” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “It’s 3 am, where’s your angel.” It came out more like some sort of dating site slogan than the question she intended.

                Dean shifted, a little thrown off by her musing tone and frustrated with both the hour and the conversation, snapped: “I don’t know, Charlie.” He hadn’t seen Cas before he crawled into bed. Judging by the tone of his statement, that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He quickly followed it with: “Probably sleeping – like all sane people at this damn hour.”

                “That makes YOU crazy too, Deanie.” Charlie had snapped out of her introspection. Dean was about to huff in agreement until she continued with: “Crazy in loooooooove.”

                Okay. This was getting ridiculous.

                Dean said as much.

                Charlie laughed.

                “Look Charlie, do you have a safe way home?”

                Charlie giggled. “Not hooome exactly.” There was the muffled sound of movement as the phone was placed at another ear.

                “Hey, Soldier.” Came a distinctly female voice on the other end. He could hear Charlie giggle again as she pulled back the phone.

                “See? She’s practically Johansson.”

                “Congratulations,” Dean sighed , dragging his other hand down his face, “looks like you’ve got better luck than me.”

                “Got thaa right. Ya know what they say, young padawan…” There was a pause. “L-Luck be a laaaady.”

                “She sure is kiddo. Look, take a cab tonight okay? I don’t know how sober Scarlett is.” There was a snort on the other end as Charlie muttered something about how The Black Widow could probably out-drink the eldest Winchester. “Just, be safe, Charlie, you hear me?”

                “My Chuck! You’re so sentimental when you’re tired. I’ll b-*hic* be fiiiine. Fine. Okay? Okay. Bye, Deanie.”

                _Click._

Now both of Dean’s hands shielded his face from the cruel outside world. He shot a reflexive hope up to whomever was listening that Charlie would be safe.

\---

                Several miles away, a blue-eyed angel straightened and cast his eyes around a crowded room, searching for the distinctive crimson head of the honorary Winchester.  


	2. Charlie's Not-So-Great Night Out and Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie's night doesn't go as planned. Nobody's does, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two came sooner than I thought =)  
> Enjoy!

                Dean had barely fallen back asleep when he heard someone screaming, and the reverberations of Sam getting tangled in his sheets in his dash for the door. Both men scrambled into the main room at the same time, guns at the ready.

                A hysterical Charlie stood on top of the table, shaking her fist at a very nonplussed Cas, screaming about Natasha Romanov and the(now thwarted)  possibility of incredibly ginger babies.

                “Guys, Guys!” Sam bellowed over the red-head’s shrieking. “What the hell is going on here?” The two turned, looking down from the table at the sleep smudged brothers.

                “Sam.” Cas sounded relieved, but was pushed aside by Charlie.

                “YOU.” Her arm shook slightly (whether from anger or alcohol it couldn’t be said) as she pointed an accusing finger at the shorter Winchester. “YOU. YOU SENT YOUR ANGEL TO – TO – TO _COLLECT_ ME.”

                Dean didn’t even bother to correct the furious lesbian. He opened his mouth to protest his innocence, but Charlie steam-rolled on.

                “THE BLACK WIDOW, DEAN. I COULD HAVE HAD THE BLACK WIDOW.”

                Dean slowly approached the table, sliding his gun back into his waistband and holding his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture, calming the woman down.

                Then Cas titled his head and said “I’m fairly certain the fictional Russian assassin belongs to Don Rico and Stan Lee and –” A look from Dean and the angel swallowed his words. Charlie was practically vibrating and her eyes were as wild as her short hair.

                “I know, Charlie, I know.” He sent another glance towards Cas who was sporting a matching accusing glare, before focusing back on the girl before him. “I’m sorry, kiddo.” Charlie’s face slowly fell and her lip began to tremble.

                “Y-you ha-had better be.” Tears began to trail down her cheeks, and she accepted Sam’s arm to get down before burying her face in his chest. She continued to break down, sobbing something muffled about how beautiful ‘Scarlett’ was. Sam awkwardly stood patting her back as Dean and Cas regarded each other, Cas looking down with a small ridge in his forehead.

                Finally Dean shifted and said, “Well I ain’t gonna lift you down Cas. I’d get Sammy to carry you bridal-style but his hands are a little full at the moment.” Sam made bitchface No. 118 ( _What Even Just Came out of Your Mouth Dean/Can You Even Hear Yourself?_ ) behind his brothers back.  Dean seemed just as confused and coughed before rubbing his neck. “Just get your ass down here Cas.”

                Cas, blatant show off that he was, reappeared directly behind Sam with a flutter of invisible wings.

                “I suggest you supply Charlie with some water and an asprin for when she wakes up.” With that he stalked off to the library.

                Dean almost snorted before realising that Cas’s advice was actually logical. “Yeah, well I was gonna do that anyway.” He mumbled belligerently even though the angel was out of sight. He shook his head and turned toward Sam, who was beginning to struggle with Charlie’s hysterics.

                “Alright, let’s get this one to bed.”

…

              Dawn came too early for three out of the four occupants of the bunker. Cas was happily correcting one of the many books on angel lore in the library. Much too happily in Dean’s opinion. Sure, maybe the angel wasn’t actually physically smiling, but the hunter could practically feel contentment coming off the figure like waves as he passed by.

              “Good morning, Dean.”

              Dean grunted, his thoughts solely focussed on the miracle that was the bunker’s coffee pot.  He found Sam already there, hunched over his own fresh brew and flipping through a few of the local newspapers Cas took home last night – or early that morning, rather.

             “Charlie still in bed?”

              Sam shrugged, not really awake enough to care.

             “Unfortunately not,” came a rasping voice from the doorway.  Charlie was huddled inside her duvet and squinted against the dim lighting in the kitchen as she shuffled forward.

             “Charlie.” Dean nodded good morning. The ginger pointedly ignored him and took the carafe out of his hand, using his mug to pour herself some coffee. Sam pointed her toward the fridge when she asked for cream.

              Deciding to overlook Charlie’s offense, Dean turned to Sam. “Have you talked to Cas yet this morning?” He turned back to the coffee machine, “About those JayLo cells or whatever?”

              “HeLa,” corrected Sam bitchily, “and no.” He looked up, “Do you want me to - ?” he gestured.

              “Nah,” his brother waved him off, pouring the last bit of coffee into an ancient mug. It only filled half way. “Right, then.” Dean sighed and wandered back towards the library.

\--

                The HeLa cells turned out to be a dead end, but Cas brought home more pie with the groceries, so all was right in Dean’s world. Sam looked at the stack of pie-filled boxes.

                “Don’t say it,” warned Dean.

                “You’re gonna need a bigger mouth.” Sam chuckled.

                “Shaddup, bitch.”

                “Jerk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HeLa cells are a real thing! (Something awesome I learned in my Biology lecture a few days ago) They were taken from a woman named Henrietta Lacks in 1951.


	3. Unpacking Pie, Secrets and Groceries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas urinates, Sam snoops, Charlie apologizes and Dean looses his appetite.

**CHAPTER THREE: Unpacking Pie, Secrets and Groceries**

 

            Somewhere in the bunker, Dean was opening his newly Cas-bought box of pie and being extraordinarily clever by humming “Cherry Pie” as he unpacked it. Sam, however, was being an all around better person and helping Cas put away the rest of the groceries.

            After several minutes of quiet choreographed movements around each other and the kitchen, Sam decided to break the silence and clear his throat.

            “So, Cas,” He paused for a beat, wondering how one can casually ease into the subject of legal money-making with an angel, “... how was the grocery store?” Sam mentally smacked himself for spending more time thinking about the quality of kale Cas had bought than what he was going to say.

            Cas squinted for a moment at the younger Winchester but then replied, “It was adequate, as always, Sam.” and turned back to the cupboards.

            “Good, good,” Sam said absently, still embarrassed. Obviously he had been taking lessons from Dean in how to make small talk like an idiot.

            A few more moments of putting food in its proper place continued without interruption until Cas muttered something about the curse of urination and Sam offered to empty the remaining bag by himself if Cas would like to… go. _Again with the words, Winchester._ Sam was beyond help, but the angel graciously accepted and left the taller man to his own mortified silence. 

Thankfully, Sam’s embarrassment didn't last for long when his hand found a wallet at the bottom of the bag. Sam slowly pulled it out - it was Jimmy’s old wallet, as he had expected. Sam turned the worn leather over in his palm and after a small unheard prayer for forgiveness, he flipped the wallet open. There was a picture of Claire in the plastic covered middle section, and a surprisingly recent one by the looks of it. He was quickly distracted from the photo, by a credit card poking out of one of the slots. Sam cast a quick glance around the deserted kitchen before pulling it out. There was a picture of Cas; in all his trench-coated glory, and his name, typed out in its raised letters, making it perfectly clear to Sam that this was _not_ one of their many counterfeit cards: ‘Castiel J. Winchester’

“Shit,” Sam breathed as his eyebrows finally completed their decade-long dream of re- joining that magnificent hair.       

\---

            Charlie found Dean in the war room finishing off his third piece of pie at the sturdy mahogany table. She pulled out a chair and sat down across from him with the second installment of _He-wolf, She-wolf: A Study in Werewolf Transgenderism_ which she had been working her way through whenever she ended up at the Winchester’s bat-cave. It was one of the first books she had discovered in this library that did not subscribe to the patriarchal standards that the rest of the 'Men of Letters' organisation seemed to have been steeped in. So far she was quite impressed, but she wasn't actually going to read just yet. She reluctantly pushed the tome to the side - Dean deserved an apology.

            “Hey,” she started out, with a smile and lift of her shoulders.

“Hey.” Dean responded in kind- too distracted by his delicious confection to look up. Uninspired, Charlie bit her lip and considered retreat before summoning up her courage and continuing:

“So, I talked to Sam,” she took another breath, “and I’m so sorry!” It came out in a rush. Dean glanced up, swallowed, and said:

“What?”

“I’m sorry for drunk dialing you and drunk yelling at you-” Charlie’s arms were sweeping through the air with her apologies, “-and all the drunk crying, and-”

“Charlie!” Dean raised a placating hand, fork still firmly in place, “It’s fine! I got my four hours. I’m good.”

Charlie let her breath out. “Good. But,” she waited until the older Winchester had looked up again, “ _but_ , I think it was a little too much for you to send Cas after me, I mean _really,_ I was _hardly_ drunk and -”

Dean’s fork-holding hand made another appearance. “You were pretty much sloshed. And also, I didn’t _send_ Cas anywhere!”

“Pfft, whatever - wait, what?”

            “I didn’t tell Cas to get you.”

            “You didn’t?”  
            “Nope.”

Charlie chewed her lip and sat back in her chair, thinking hard as Dean went back to eating. “Did you see Cas at all yesterday?”

            “Well yeah, when he showed up on this table with a screaming woman at quarter to four in the morning.” Dean stabbed moodily at his pie. When Charlie didn’t reply he looked up to see Charlie’s eyes filled with pity. Dean blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that?!” Charlie’s hand reached across the table to rest on his. “What?!?” A look of realisation dawned on Dean’s face. “NO Charlie. He showed up with _you_.” He pulled his hand away and slid it down his face with a dry, humourless chuckle. Charlie’s apologetic chatter continued but Dean tuned it out from behind his hands as he weighed the pros and cons of having the redhead at the bunker. On the one hand, she was family and a large part of him loved being able to physically see she is safe every two minutes. But, was it really worth it when she kept on bringing up his _entirely platonic_ feelings for the angel? And even if he _had_ any feelings -- Suddenly he didn’t feel too hungry anymore.

Gradually Dean realised it was quiet and he looked up. Charlie was looking at him expectantly, but he hadn’t been listening. 

“What?” His confusion seemed to be just what the girl was looking for because her face lit up and she began in a sing-song voice:

“Aww, Deanie was thinking about his Cassie-bear -”

“OKAY.” Dean stood up, 110% done with this conversation. “Maybe you should go apologise to ‘Cassie-bear’ for punching him this morning.” His gruff voice and raised eyebrow wiped the smile off Charlie’s face.

“Shit, are you serious?” the girl whispered. Dean just looked at her. “Crap.”

Dean shook his head and smiled as Charlie left, and then packed up his pie to save for later. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why Cas needed to pee. Please forgive me. 
> 
> [next chapter coming at some point...]  
> [don't get your hopes up]


	4. Digging Deeper [Into Secrets and Pie-Related Music]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Charlie gang up and level up in hard-core Destiel shipping.  
> Dean and Cas have a minor bonding moment.  
> [Starring: Baby and Charlie's Laptop. Sponsored by Betsy's Boho Boutique.]

 

The moment Charlie stepped into the hallway, she ran into Sam.

“Damn! Sorry! Hi Sam!” Charlie tilted her head back to look at the younger Winchester’s face. “Sorry, gotta go!” She quickly explained, trying to squeeze past the moose in the suddenly too-small corridor. Sam’s hand was tight around her forearm as he pulled her into a random room.

“Sam?” she squeaked, her eyes narrowing both from confusion and the clouds of dust rising from the disturbed room.

“Charlie--” Sam let go of the ginger’s arm to cover his nose and mouth as he sneezed.

“What’s going on?” Charlie cast a quick glance at the door which was now closed behind them.

“Sorry,” Sam apologized sniffing, “Have you ever made Cas a fake credit card without telling us?”

“What? No.” Charlie’s confusion grew.

“He never asked you to?” The girl’s red hair bounced as she shook her head.

“Okay, because I found THIS.” Sam dramatically whipped Cas’s card out of his back pocket.

Charlie stared at it for a moment before squealing: “Oh. My. Godesses! Dean and Cas totally had a secret wedding!!!”

“What?!?” The tall man shook his head exasperatedly. “No, Charlie. I’m pretty sure they didn’t. I mean, don’t you think I would’ve known if something like that had happened around here? I mean we all live in the same house, for Pete’s sake!”

Charlie’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. “True. And Dean probably would’ve invited you to be their witness anyways, just like you did that one time with Becky.”

“Becky has nothing to do with this.” Sam scowled and shifted uncomfortably.  “I think it’s safe to assume that Castiel didn’t marry either Dean-- or I,” he quickly added as the red-head’s mouth opened, “which means that he must have applied for a card on his own and chose ‘Winchester’ himself for a last name.”

“Right.” Charlie nodded. “But why would he want to do that?”

“Exactly!” grinned Sam.

___________

Dean was in the bunker’s expansive garage, his torso hidden underneath Baby’s sleek black hood. In keeping with the situation, Dean felt that Zep’s ‘Custard Pie’ would be a good choice to blast through the garage speakers, and was currently slapping his hands along the edges of the Impala’s front wing.  

The sound of someone clearing their throat caused Dean to jump, narrowly missing smacking his head against the hood. “Cas.” Dean sighed exasperatedly.

“Dean.” Cas replied seriously, nodding. Two beers dangled from the angel’s hands and he passed one over to Dean as he struggled to un-cap his own. Dean watched in amusement before the frustrated Cas gave in and used his grace. Dean snorted.

“So, what’s up Cas?”

“The rafters.” came the bland reply, but Dean could see the sly look in his friend’s eyes.

“Sure.” Dean gave Cas his best impression of Sam’s classic bitch-face, making the angel’s lips curl upwards slightly.    
‘Custard Pie’ crooned in the background as the two men regarded each other. Dean was becoming increasingly aware of the space between them, and a strange feeling of claustrophobia began to creep up his neck. Just as Dean was losing his nerve and about to break eye contact, Cas spoke up.

“This… this isn’t about pie, is it.”

“No, Cas. No it isn’t.” Dean clapped the angel on the shoulder, reaching across the suddenly clear air. If his hand rested there for longer than was really acceptable, no one had to know. Letting out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, Dean placed his bottle on the garage’s concrete floor before ducking back under the hood of the Impala.

“Want to learn something, Cas?”

_______________

Charlie was sitting on the old bed,  furiously typing on her laptop which she had retrieved from the kitchen. Sam was kneeling on the floor next to her legs, craning to see if her latest password worked.

_Denied._

“See? I told you ‘DeaniesWeenie5eva’ wouldn’t work!”

“Well we’ve tried everything else!!” Charlie exclaimed and dropped her head onto her keyboard. Sam ran a hand through his hair in frustration. The banking website reloaded, and Sam tapped the red-head on the shoulder as his mouth dropped open. The girl looked up to see ‘ _Welcome, Castiel J. Winchester_ ’ printed neatly at the top of the white and green webpage. They were in!

“Whaaa…?” Charlie’s voice trailed off in awe. “How…?”

Sam shrugged, “It doesn’t matter! Come on!” He gestured toward the laptop, desperate to finish snooping before anyone came looking for them.   

“Okay, looks like we’ve found ourselves a direct deposit.” Charlie clicked on the entry to enlarge it. “And its from…. Betsy’s Boho Boutique??” Sam choked and began coughing uncontrollably, while Charlie stared at the screen in confusion.

“So the angel has a job in retail.” Sam said in wonder once he could breathe properly again.

“Wait…..” Charlie sounded uncertain. “Something about this is super familiar.”

Sam shot his friend a questioning look. “Maybe you’ve bought something from,” he quirked a small grin,  “Betsy’s?”

“No….” Charlie began to rummage around in her pockets. “Aha!” A very wrinkled receipt was clutched in her hand. She smoothed it out on the dusty quilt. “Betsy’s Boho Boutique.” She read out, her finger jabbing the bottom of the slip of paper, her voice triumphant. “It’s a cyber beard.”

“What.” Sam was totally bewildered.  

“You know, like a beard? Like: I’m not gay; I have a wife?”

“Wait, so Cas _is_ married?”

The ginger shook her head, bent back over her laptop as she called up a bunch of tabs. “As you know, a lot of the older crowd -- your generation, sorry -- are so very far into the closet that they’re practically having tea with Mr. Tumnus. So, people appreciate it when their bills (or in this case payments) are put under a false name, and a lot of bars and pubs cater to that.” She glanced up to assure herself that Sam was keeping up. “‘Betsy’s Boho Boutique’ is actually ‘The Batter’s Cage’, incidentally the bar I was at last night.”

“A gay bar,” Sam asked for confirmation, his eyes wide.

“Yup.” Charlie popped the ‘p’ as she grinned.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so... TA-DA  
> also I may or may not have invoked a SPN-universe miracle from Chuck so that Sam and Charlie could hack Cas's bank account. Chuck was getting impatient.  
> See y'all next time =)


	5. Almost the End of the Line [and the Pie]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam drinks, Charlie schemes and Dean and Cas get (almost) physical.  
> (but nothing like that, sorry guys, this is slow burn-- more like *no* burn.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up everyone: THIS IS TOTALLY UNBETA-ED. I didn't even look it over before posting. THEREFORE: forgive me for the many errors and I will most likely re-submit this somewhere along the line to save my dignity. I'm on my reading break rn and so I decided to update because I need to get the rest of this fic out of me. Also, I thought this was going to be the last chapter but Charlie told me she needed more time so *shrugs*

Charlie was reveling in her victory when suddenly she noticed that Sam’s face was becoming redder and his eyes were widening. Fearing that he was about to have a heart attack or some such, the redhead moved to put her laptop on the coverlet beside her with the intention of being able to get out of the way if the moose was about to pass out. However, she saw the source of Sam’s distress the moment her eyes moved back to the screen in front of her. One of the many websites she had called up to prove her ‘cyber-beard’ speech to the younger Winchester was ‘The Batter’s Cage’, and the cover photo had finally loaded. ‘Welcome our Newest Act!” was emblazoned next to a dark-haired man who was, unfortunately for the two stunned viewers, very obviously Cas, all decked out in his familiar trenchcoat -- and not much else. Charlie’s hand covered her eyes in an instant, but it was too late. Sam was in much the same position; fingers splayed across his face, and his mind desperately trying to forget the unsettling image. 

“Close it!” Charlie cried somewhat hysterically, gesturing blindly to the laptop on her lap. Sam’s free hand waved wildly in the air before him and it took a few more torturous moments before he found the screen and flipped it down. Both continued to sit there, chests heaving, until they finally let their hands slip off their faces only to stare into the traumatized eyes of the other.

“We can’t know this.” Sam’s voice was raspy as he tried to regain his grasp on reality. He stood unsteadily and began to walk toward the door. “Although,” he paused with his hand on the doorknob; his expression contemplative, “maybe Dean should.”

Charlie swallowed and nodded. “Leave it to me.” 

As the man left the room, Charlie let a small smile grow on her face. She had a plan.  
____________  
Hauling her freshly packed bag behind her, full of things she had left behind the last time she came by, Charlie walked toward the bunker’s garage. As she passed the kitchen she gave Sam a cheerful thumbs up, who returned it halfheartedly before taking another long drag of Dean’s favourite whiskey. [It was the expensive kind that Dean kept in the cupboard for special occasions like birthdays, holidays and the apocalypse (take 35), but Sam felt entirely justified - somehow, this whole scarring weekend was Dean’s fault. Somehow.]

The low hum of James Taylor’s ‘Sweet Potato Pie’ softened the edges of the concrete hangar-sized garage as Charlie found herself in the doorway. As the redhead looked up from her phone the first thing the she noticed was the tan trench coat hanging over the handlebars of a nearby classic motorbike. She closed her eyes in an effort to fight off the scandalizing image that was slowly rising from her memory. That strategy really wasn’t working so she tried the next: distraction. Charlie scanned the room for her target. There!

Dean and Cas could only identified by their rear ends, which protruded out of Baby’s open hood. Charlie could hear the familiar low mutter of Dean’s voice as he explained something to the angel beside him. As she watched, the denim-covered bum shuffled backwards and Dean’s bare arm reached up to grip the edge of the hood above the angel’s back. Cas then did his best to slide between the Impala’s grill and the hunter’s crotch, leaning so far into the bonnet that he disappeared from Charlie’s view entirely. The two posteriors smoothly swapped spots without any problems and the muffled conversation continued on as if it had not been interrupted but Charlie was so surprised by the casual closeness of… _e v e r y t h i n g_ , that her phone slipped from her fingers. She watched in horror as Pietro the CEO was mauled by the suit-wearing werewolf* and her eyes stung as the small LED screen cracked when it hit the concrete floor. The clattering noise echoed around the cavernous room startling the older Winchester so much that his head made contact with the lip of Baby’s hood for the second time in almost three hours. 

“-Ffuc- Charlie! What the -” the hunter coughed and straightened as his heart rate returned to normal. Cas calmly backed his way out from under the hood and stood right next to Dean, tapping two fingers against the hunter’s suddenly sweaty palms to erase the rapidly swelling goose-egg at the base of Dean’s skull. Charlie raised her eyebrows. Dean valiantly fought down inexplicable rush of blood to his face (re: _NOT_ a blush). Castiel looked around innocently and completely ignored Dean’s dagger-like death glare. 

Dean turned away from Cas and dragged his hands nervously down his bare arms. He cleared his throat again. “Charlie.” He stepped sideways to recover his discarded flannel and continued, “What’s up?”

“U-um.” Charlie stuttered for a moment as her brain remembered what she was here for. “I’m um, I’m leaving actually.” Her face was earnest and she bounced slightly on the balls of her feet. Dean froze his left arm half-way through the second plaid sleeve. 

“Oh.” 

“I’m sorry,” the girl bounced some more. “I know I normally let you know earlier, but I didn’t even expect to be here, and--”

“Right, right. Yeah.” Dean interrupted with a waving hand. He shook off the sinking disappointment settling in his gut and the concerned whisper of _abandonment issues_ from a voice that sounded suspiciously like his brother. It was totally fine that Charlie was leaving. She’s a big girl. She can do what she wants. 

“Just came by to say bye!” the ginger interrupted his thoughts with her bright voice. “And maybe get some help with this luggage?” She smiled impishly and Castiel grinned; this girl was good for them. Dean huffed a laugh, “I’ll walk you out.”

Dean reached down to grab Charlie’s bag only to find Cas already holding it with a challenging stare. _Show off_ Dean thought as loudly as he could and rolled his eyes, laughing to himself when he saw the angel’s blue eyes narrow even further.

“My lady,” Dean executed a half-bow as he proffered his arm to the Queen of Moons, who accepted it gracefully and the three walked toward the war room. Sam was there waiting by the strategy table, smelling only slightly of alcohol (though judging by the tightening around Dean’s eyes, it was enough) to give Charlie a hug and a whispered _good luck_. Dean and Cas followed the redhead up the stairs and as the angel was stowing the duffle in the trunk of the tiny yellow car, Charlie pulled Dean aside. After their regular goodbye sequence, full of “be safe”s and “just call me if you get into trouble”s, Charlie said:

“Hey, how would you feel about being my wingman?”

Dean blinked but immediately responded:

“Heck yes! Why not? Well, as long as I’m not out with Sammy or the world’s not going to pot because of some supernatural force.”

“So not a Wednesday then,” Charlie joked. Dean laughed; he should tell that to Sammy later. (On second thought maybe not.) “Sweet! Because I’ve been chatting with this stellar lady on Tinder - hey you don’t get to judge me, Sam told me about ‘Shaylene’ - but I need someone to help me tell if she’s legit, ya know? I don’t want her to be actually ‘just curious’ or that she has a husband who’s ‘curious’!” The girl made a face and shook her head.

“Woah wait, people do that?” Dean’s expression was somewhat awed, “like look for a-a- another person?” Quickly reading the disgusted set of the redhead’s mouth he continued, “And you’re totally not into that. Okay. I gotcha.”

“No.” Charlie reiterated vehemently. “Anyways, I’m hoping to meet Liza next Thursday at a bar here in Lebanon….” She cast a quick glance at Cas where he was running his fingers through the vines that grew against the bunker’s walls. “I’ll ah, I’ll text you the address.”

“Anything for you, your highness.” Dean grinned and pulled her into a bearhug. Charlie’s responding smile was a bit more smug: the plan was set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * this is from the game/app The Executive. I just felt like Charlie would be into it and also that she would name her avatar Pietro. [disclaimer: I do not own The Executive]  
> ** also, 'Shaylene' is a reference to Shaylene Johnson from Girls, Girls, Girls (10x07)   
> finally: sorry for the lack of voice for Cas. Maybe he has a cold too? I'll try to get him to talk more next chapter, I promise. [He's for sure saying five sentences so far.]  
> See you all then =D


	6. The End of the Pie (... or is it?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SOMEHOW MY CRACK FIC GOT SERIOUS  
> WHY  
> ...but not like craaaazy serious, so.... enjoy!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written:  
> TOTALLY UNBETA'D  
> EXTRAORDINARILY STRESSED  
> WAY TOO CAFFEINATED  
> but hey its exams so.....  
> NB: There's some more serious swearing in this chapter. [Just a warning in case you're 12 or as innocent as I was at 17 =D ] as well as a very very brief mention of past molestation.

      Four days and a successful salt-and-burn later, the Impala was pulling into the parking lot of The Batter’s Cage. Dean squinted through the darkening twilight to where he could see a dark-haired bouncer with frosted pink tips. _So... less “straight” and “bar” and much more “gay” and “club”_ Dean quickly realised and he heaved a great sigh. It was a good thing he loved Charlie. Squaring his shoulders and pulling his tall frame out of the low Impala, Dean walked toward the brightly lit doors. Always a man for a little wordplay, he chuckled as he read the neon flashing lights. A small family of butterflies were beginning to flutter around his stomach as the pink-haired bruiser gave him a raised eyebrow. Dean scowled. He was a grown-ass man; he could walk into any building he wanted to. Thankfully, years of being in unexpected and uncomfortable situations provided Dean with a foolproof defense mechanism. Unfortunately for his painfully heterosexual identity; this mechanism was going into hardcore flirt mode. Not to say it isn’t effective - no one thinks you’re internally screaming when your entire body is saying ‘come hither’. When Dean finally reached the doorway he put up his smuggest smile, looked Pink-Tips right in the eye and winked.

      The inside of the building was not exactly what Dean had been expecting. For one thing, it wasn’t as packed with bodies as he had originally envisioned. There were roughly 20 people in the front room, and the majority of them were further back in the designated dance area. But whatever The Batter’s Cage lacked in patrons it made up in noise. The pumped up beat of “I Turn to You” was so loud, Dean could hardly distinguish the lyrics, and he felt the illogical urge to squint as he scanned the rest of the room. There were clusters of round tables with chairs and several darkened and occupied booths along the walls. There was also an adjoining room filled with couches occupied by a small group of women who were laughing and dancing to the throbbing music.   The bar against the front was was average, and actually bore a small resemblance to the scarred booze counter at the Roadhouse despite that it was lit up with pulsing purple lights. The bartender was a very muscular, very tattooed and oh-so-very _shirtless_ man named Lukas (or so Dean assumed from the HELLO MY NAME IS tag that was strategically stuck  directly below his left nipple line). _Shit._ Dean swallowed hard.

This was a very --

     A short man wearing a white cutoff top that said “I MANdate” in block letters  - and was that _eyeliner_? -  gave Dean a ‘how you doin’?’ head nod from down the bar.

 - **very** -

    Dean quickly looked away only for his eyes to light upon two more guys taking turns tossing shots of something neon green into each other’s mouths.

\- **_VERY_ ** bad idea.  

     Suddenly a hand smacked his ass.

    Dean’s fingers had wrapped around the grip of his Colt hidden in his waistband before he registered the flash of familiar red hair.

    “Whoa!” Charlie threw her hands up in front of her chest.

    “Charlie.” Dean ground out, letting his arm fall back to his side.

    “Shit, Dean! You can’t take a _firearm_ into a _public place_!”She hissed as she shielded him from Lukas’s inquisitive stare.

    “Well maybe I do, seeing as someone just tried to _molest_ me.” Dean meant it to be joking, but it was difficult to lessen the trembling in his clenched hand.

    Charlie snorted. “Yeah well, all the same --” She trailed off as she looked into Dean’s eyes, and saw a truth that Dean’s challenging stare tried to hide. Fuck. She doesn’t know why she’s still surprised when she’s reminded how damaged both of her Winchester boys are. A sick feeling grew in the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it away knowing that Dean would probably walk out if she gave him even a slightly sad look. Charlie cleared her throat and continued: “Just don’t shoot any of the locals.” and slapped him on the arm the way she’d seen Sam do when their brotherly conversations strayed too close to personal in front of non-Winchesters.  The tension bled out of the hunter’s shoulders as he attempted a smile that Charlie pretended was totally normal.

     “So where’s this Miss Perfect?” Dean glanced behind Charlie in search of her date.

     “Not here yet,” the redhead explained, “we’re supposed to meet in an hour. This gives us time to make a plan.” She grinned deviously as Dean rolled his eyes and let himself be lead to the nearest table.

     Half and hour later, Liza Pushki walked through the front doors and slid onto a bar stool. With long silver hair and slim frame, Liza looked stellar in her pink and blue plaid crop top with a navy pencil skirt. Dean gave Charlie an exaggerated thumbs up and mouthed “plaid” to the nervous-looking ginger.  Charlie stifled a laugh and rolled her eyes before shooing Dean towards to bar. Time for phase one.

     As Dean reached the bar Liza was hopping off the stool, grasping a tumbler with two fingers of whiskey, and was so busy looking around the room that she bumped straight into Dean when he purposely placed himself in the way. The glass slipped from the woman’s hand and Dean caught it before it hit the ground dumping out the amber liquid with a quick fumble of his wrist.

     After some overlapping apologies Dean convinced Liza to let him buy her another and soon they were back at the counter and Dean was casually asking Lukas for the entire bottle of jack, being very careful to look very calm and collected.

     “So what’s your name?” the hunter turned up his charm as he poured Liza another two fingers of whiskey.

     “Liza.” the woman supplied, smiling.

     “Dean.” He held out his hand to shake, leaning his back against the bar and resting his elbows on the edge. “What’s a nice girl like you doing at a bar on a weeknight?”

     Liza laughed and said, “I’m here for a date actually.”

    Dean hummed. “She hot?”

    The woman shrugged a bit uncomfortably. “I don’t usually judge that from pictures, I guess.” Liza tossed down her whiskey down her throat. “I haven’t met her yet.”

    “Nervous much?” Dean gave a wry smile at her hastiness.

    “You got me.” she fiddled with the tumbler. “My last… it didn’t end so well.”

     The hunter nodded, letting a silence creep between them, and was just planning his segway into asking Liza if she had a husband, when he noticed her gaze on him. Dean raised his eyebrow as he turned to look at her. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew when he was being checked out.

    “I don’t suppose you swing both ways, eh?” Liza asked, twirling her finger around the edge of her empty glass.

    “Sorry, sweetheart.” Dean felt his shoulders tense up again and forced himself to relax. Why did people always assume he was --

    “Pity.” Liza interrupted his panicky thoughts as she took another sip. Dean blinked, understanding what her question had actually been asking.

    “I-I’m straight actually.”

    Liza’s eyes flicked up to his face and her expression was disbelieving. “Right.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

    A long suffering sigh left the hunter’s lips before he joked: “Yeah my sister never believes me either when I say that.” Liza laughed at that.

    “You got any family?” Dean asked casually. This lead to a long discussion full of pictures of Liza’s 6 siblings and her 2 nephews, until Dean was entirely satisfied that she wasn’t hiding a husband and two kids inside the cupboards of her one-person apartment.

     Another silence slipped between them and Dean took the opportunity to give Charlie the green light.

     “Ya know,” Liza broke the silence, “I think it’s because you’re such a pretty boy.”

     “What?” Dean looked up from his phone so quickly he probably gave himself whiplash.

     “Why people assume you’re not totally straight.” She was still looking at him appreciatively. Dean decided to play it cool and replied:

     “You think I’m pretty now you should’ve seen me in my twenties.”

      “I thought I was.” she responded coyly.

     Dean tipped his head back and laughed. “You are good.”

     “I’m serious. I would take you home if I wasn’t waiting for someone.”

      Dean stared at her, his expression unreadable. Liza took that as a bad sign.

     “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I don’t why I -- sorry,” she waved her hand back and forth as she ducked her head, “guess I’ve had too much of this.” She slid her glass out of her reach across the bar and spun around on the stool to face the same way as Dean. The latter cleared his throat trying to dispel the awkwardness.

     “So what’s a single, straight, good-looking guy like you doing at a gay club on a weeknight?”  

    The hunter is relieved by the subject change. “Oh my brother and I just moved into town. Trying to get a good grasp of the local colour,” he flashed her a smile which she returned gratefully. “And anyways,” Dean spotted the pole beginning to be set up  in the center of the stage, “it looks like we’re going to get some good entertainment, eh?” he nudged Liza with his elbow; raising his eyebrows and grinning since mutual appreciation of the female form seemed to be a safe topic.

     “Oh! No I don’t think that’s going to be ---” Whatever warning the silver-haired woman was going to give was interrupted by the arrival of a slightly flustered Charlie.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAS IS COMING  
> (um please don't take that wrong, bc in this fic so far he's my little innocent baby angel so STOP LAUGHING HANNAH)  
> ITS A SURPRIIIISE  
> peace out pretty poeple


	7. Surpised by Pie [and Castiel]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost two years since I last updated this and I apologize. Turns out my motivation to continue with this crack-fic stems directly from my crippling fear of the unknowable future, so YAY! Happy vibes, my dears.  
> .... Here's chapter 7!  
> (also this is totally unbeta'd so again, I'm sorry)

Dean leaned away as Charlie gave Liza a quick hug before he exclaimed: “Charlie!?” 

“Dean?!” she replied, perfectly feigning surprise, in keeping with the Official Unofficial Script to Scout Out a Tinder Date™ they had created 30 minutes ago, before wrapping her arms around him. 

“You two know each other??” Liza’s eyes were wide with shock. Charlie ignored her question and instead spoke to Dean.

“What are you doing here? I thought you and Sam were still unpacking! Is Sam here with you?” Dean laughed and slung an arm around Charlie’s shoulders, turning her towards Liza. 

“This is the sister I was telling you about: Charlie.” The hunter grinned genuinely at Liza’s confused and slightly horrified expression. 

“And this is my painfully hetero brother that I was complaining to you about, remember?” Charlie placed a hand on Liza’s arm.  

“But-” the silver-haired woman looked lost.

“She’s adopted.” Dean let his arm slip off his friend’s shoulders. 

Liza made guilty eye contact with Dean as the implication of her actions dawned on her. “Oh my goodness, I am so embarrassed!” Her hair fell in a silver sheet as she covered her face with her hands. Charlie shot Dean a confused look. He gestured helplessly, trying to apologize. Although let’s be real, it’s not his fault that he’s irresistible. Charlie rolled her eyes at him and mouthed “Asshole”, making it clear that this silent conversation was not over. 

“Ah don’t be,” Charlie’s voice was bright despite her gritted teeth, and she ran a hand down Liza’s back, “womanizing runs in the family!” She sent another sharp glare in Dean’s direction until he looked suitably chastised. 

Liza gave a weak laugh. 

“Anyways, I guess that’s my cue to leave!” Dean passed a hand across the back of his neck, eager to go back to the bunker where there was less… just less. 

Charlie’s head snapped up, her eyes slightly wild. Dean frowned, surprised by her panicked reaction. Did she not want to be left alone with Liza? Maybe she wanted revenge? Dean was momentarily lost to the horrors of all the ways the fiery redhead could torture him for 4 hours in this particular bar. He was just going through another sweep of all the available exits when Charlie forced out a laugh and said:

“No!” Two women down the bar sent them startled glances as Charlie’s voice came out more shrill than she had intended. She cleared her throat and tried again, “No! Stay! Thursdays are half-price pie days!” Her arm flung out to point at a nearby poster emblazoned with “Pie-Curious Thursdays” and then some disclaimer about the limited availability of pie outside of Thursdays because this was not a “fricking bakery thank-you very much”. 

Dean could not believe his luck. His “Cas-stash” (as he liked to call it) of pie at the bunker had finally run out at the beginning of the week, and just this morning he had sworn to Sam that he was going through actual pie withdrawal; that’s why his sweatpants fit slightly snugger these days.

“Well,” Dean drawled, relaxing back against the bar top, “how can I resist?”

A brief flash of something like relief passed behind Charlie’s eyes, but she quickly turned away to ask Lukas for three slices and Dean shook off his sudden feeling of paranoia.  Lead by a cheerfully chatting Charlie, Dean and Liza took their places at a small table, the two women sitting opposite each other, and Dean sitting in the middle with a perfect view of the stage. 

Several things began to happen in quick succession: first, Dean realized his legs were much too long to fit well under the table, and there was an awkward moment of chair shuffling and apologies before Dean suddenly found himself nose-to-very-warm-oblique with a pie-bearing Lukas. Unable to work up the energy to react, Dean simply closed his eyes, took a deep cleansing breath and briefly cursed the day he was born.  When he opened his eyes again, the bartender was gone, and Charlie was regaling Liza with tales from her LARPing days as if Dean had not just been tongue-length away from a shirtless man’s navel. Not as if Dean was  _ actually  _ thinking about licking, ya know, anything - but it was just that Lukas had been  _ really  _ close to his face. Closer than any other masculine six pack had been outside of physical combat -  _ except maybe Sam’s _ \- but thankfully Dean’s brain derailed that thought quickly, as this was clearly not the time to be thinking about his brother. 

Charlie was finally starting to draw Dean back into the conversation when the stage lit up and a brief hush fell over the patrons of club, which had begun to fill up considerably, and more people began moving toward the sitting areas surrounding the trio.  Dean swallowed his last fork-full of pie, and (after a careful glance behind him) tipped his chair back slightly to stretch his legs.   A voice sounded from the speakers set around the performance area - Lukas speaking into a comm system set up behind the bar. 

“Alright everyone! You already know the first act tonight…” Lukas paused as a smattering of applause rose from the darkened floor “... so without um anything else, let’s hear it for our Thursday’s Angel!” He drew out the “el” as if he was some sort of game show host which was normally something that irritated Dean to no end, but at the moment he couldn’t have cared less. 

Staring at the figure walking out onto stage left, the older Winchester felt that he had suddenly left the physical plane of existence. He was floating somewhere above the erroneous concepts of time and space, and a thought echoed across said nothingness that perhaps he had reached some sort of enlightenment, some sort of nirvanah. Dean stayed there - suspended with his disbelief as the figure dramatically dropped the all-too-familiar overcoat to the cheers of the crowd, and began to dance his way over to center stage and the glittering pole. 

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, Shield of God, Saviour of the Righteous Man, Best Friend of Dean and Samuel Winchester was stretching in the spotlight in nothing else but black spandex booty shorts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ whoever read this you're amazing, thanks for bearing with this terrible joke of a story. ily.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are apprieciated!


End file.
